Payday
by commandmetobewell
Summary: "I can't look at her, not now. She was gone, they took her."


**A/N: Trigger Warning: Death or Dying, and Kidnapping.** Wow, I wrote this when I was sixteen and it's terrible, just a warning.

* * *

The cup of coffee simmers at the corner of my desk. Ten minutes, and I would be done. I've been adjusting and readjusting the photo of her by my computer screen. It's a strange feeling, a habit that I've developed to cure the anxiety that curdles inside of my chest like an infection. No matter which angle I place it at, her eyes still bear into my soul. I've been meaning to get rid of it, but each time I touch it, I hear her soft voice in the back of my mind, and I know I can't remove myself from it. I look away, feeling my insides rip apart.

I would have left sooner, but I needed the money. The downside of an office job is the pay system. They will pay you to do nothing in your chair for two hours, but as soon as you are gone, that's your money out the window. You have to clock in and clock out like a zombie. My fingers twitch as the memory of my previous job settles into the back of my mind. I never had to wait to get paid. We'd just go out, play a set, and the cheques would fly right in.

But, things changed.

I glance at the time on my computer screen and unbutton my collar to allow more air to flow down my aching throat. Finally, after gluing my eyes to the monitor, the little numbers switch and it's five o'clock. I down the cup of coffee, ignoring the scathing burn. I reach forward and push down on the power button of the computer.

Nothing happens.

The damned thing is more outdated than a floppy disk. I sigh and wait for several seconds before I press the button again. Still nothing happens, even when I try to click something or tell my computer to do any menial task. Some more seconds pass and I hit the power button again. I'm two seconds from smashing the coffee cup at its stupid screen.

The office is quiet.

Everyone else is salaried so they all took off early to return home. I want to do the same, but my computer starts beeping. Irritated by its malfunction, I stand up and stretch my back, hearing the long string of bones set into place after hours of being curled into a bend. The empty, stretching hallways go on forever as I turn back to my desk. I'm about to gather my things when a small window pops up on my computer screen.

"Tegan."

I squint at the name on the screen. The last time I had been called Tegan, she was being taken, ripped from me, screaming that name in desperation. She was screaming for me to help her, to save her.

"Tegan!"

The memories whip through my mind like a film reel. We were laying on the bed. The TV was playing re-runs of Dog the Bounty Hunter. I was sleeping, exhausted from playing a show earlier that day, and she was lying in my arms. Her fingers were dancing circles upon my chest and her lips were peppering kisses in my neck.

"Tegan."

I'd fallen asleep, barely conscious or aware. Somewhere in the garbled noise from the TV, she had heard a rumbling downstairs. She was trying to wake me from my deep slumber. I had forgotten to lock the door.

"Tegan!"

They were hammering up the stairs, yelling slurs of hatred. They called themselves fans. They cared about us. They wanted us to be healthy, normal - said that we were too successful for our lives to go to waste. They wanted to fix us.

"Tegan!"

By the time I finally came to, she wasn't in my arms anymore.

"Tegan, Tegan, Tegan!"

They had her.

She kept screaming. Her angelic voice now sounded like nails grating against chalkboard as she was dragged down the steps. Her face was outlined with terror as I tried to move from the bed. I stood, only to catch the sight of her body being lugged away with a sandbag draped over her head. I shot forward to run after her but before I could reach the door, I was knocked to the ground by something hard, leaving me blanketed in darkness.

That was so many years ago.

I press my trembling finger against the jagged line that creased my left temple. I run my callused fingertips over the scar, collecting the sweat that had previously beaded there. I'm safe, I know I'm safe… right? I changed my name and moved across the world. They can't possibly find me here. I look back at the photo of her beside my desk and slam it downwards. I can't look at her, not now. She was gone, they took her.

Standing up, dazed, I look around at the sea of void cubicles. It's dead silent, eerie, and if she were here, she'd tease me about how I'm acting like this is a horror movie. But, I'm alone and I take a deep breath, leaning over my desk. Anxiety from years of nightmares held over that one memory pulse through me like poison. I clench the edge of the cool wood before standing up. I turn and see a man, dressed in dark clothes, decked out with black shades and a stubbled beard. My arms fall to my sides as the air leaves my lungs. He cocks his head to the side slightly to adjust his glasses.

The computer behind me is beeping frantically with pop-ups of countless "Tegan"s filling the screen. The noise sounds like a bomb is about to go off as I turn around.

I look at the man and he looks at me. He reaches into his trench coat pocket and I take a sharp breath. I used to live such a different life, one that I knew I couldn't escape, one that I knew would come back to haunt me. I had been running for so long, and now I had finally hit the last wall.

The man tilts his chin up, and I recognize him. My heart comes to sit in the pit of my stomach as I ignore the possible idea of making an escape. It's too late now. The office is empty and it's only me and my fate in one narrowed cubicle.

I'm trapped, like a rat in a cage.

The beeping stops for a few moments, before one last annoying tone is issued. I turn my gaze away from the man to see the last pop-up. Everything that I had come to know for the past few years crumbles as I read the message.

"It's me, Tegan."

I glance back up at the man, over his shoulder, and I see her. Her face is pressed up against the glass of the window at the far end of the hallway. She looks nothing like the picture, with bruises and cuts covering her face, but I still recognize her like there had been no change. She purses her lips and I make out one word.

 _Run_.

I look back at the man who has now taken out a silver pistol. He hasn't said a word to me but he doesn't have to. I know his intentions like I know her songs. I look back at the window, and she's still there, waving her arms at me to follow her command.

I'm an insomniac. I haven't seen her in years. My mind is a mess and I know that she could very well be an illusion. It's been too long, and the lines between reality and my past are blurred. She couldn't be real. They took her away.

I saw it happen.

I see the gap between the man and the fire exit. If I run now, I could make it to her. I would be free and we could be together again. I glance back up at her and see that she's stopped waving and is now looking at me with shocked, wide eyes. She presses her palms against the glass as she begs me, with one final glance, to come to her. I want to will myself to join her, but I can't.

I shake my head as I shift my gaze back to the man with the gun. I'm tired and I can't run anymore. I've spent years trying to find her. They told me she was dead, and I believed them. There's no way that she could've survived, they told me. I can't do this anymore. I bow my head and I hear her scream.

Before I can even register the sound of her voice, one that I hadn't heard in years, the man cocks back the loaded gun. I manage to get one last glance of her face, mouth hanging wide as a shriek pierced through the thick glass.

I have never been so wrong.

The shot is fired and I feel it before I see it. She screams louder than the sound of the bullet shredding through me. My real name is birthed from her lips as I finally crumble to the ground. I gaze at her terrified face, and that's when I know.

I should've skipped the pay.


End file.
